


留恋, Memento (Mori)

by Rei_Rei (anti60ne)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti60ne/pseuds/Rei_Rei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kai/Kyungsoo, bff!Kai/Luhan; ~6900w; R</p><p>in which Jongin and Kyungsoo, two incompatible people, learn how to live in a world without Luhan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	留恋, Memento (Mori)

Jongin skipped all of his classes the day after Luhan's funeral. It couldn't be helped, he thought wearily, as he could barely lift himself off the bed, his body as heavy as lead. He didn't think he had slept, but perhaps he did, because he thought he saw Luhan, spoke to him, touched him, and that must have been a dream.

When he tried to blink, his eyes stung from the crust that had accumulated in the corner of his eyes, stubborn remnants of the tears that Luhan took away.

He was still in bed when his mother knocked softly, and then entered without waiting for a response, as it would have been futile. She padded in and placed a tray of food atop his desk, then left as quietly as she came, casting a worried glance at her son.

The growling of his stomach interrupted his monotonous heartbeat; he hadn't eaten anything since hours before the funeral.

Jongin rolled over and forced himself to sit up, and vertigo almost knocked him right back into the bed.

As he swirled the spoon inside the porridge, his other hand traced the framed photo of him and Luhan that sat on his desk. It was taken over a year ago, when Jongin was a naive freshman and Luhan was a junior, still radiating with a healthy glow in his grin. That glow disappeared over time as Luhan fell more ill, losing steadily to the disease that he had been battling since childhood.

_Hyung... I miss you already. What am I going to do tomorrow? And the day after?_

Jongin force-fed himself a spoonful, the slightly salty mush giving a foreign warmth in his dry mouth. He moved his jaw languidly as he pulled open his drawer, driven by the memory of Luhan.

He saw a letter, addressed to him in Luhan's handwriting, lying on top of the piles of stationery, scrap papers, and by-products of procrastination.

 

Kyungsoo barely flinched in surprise when he closed his locker and saw Jongin leaning on the neighboring door. Jongin didn't turn to face him, arms crossed and eyes dark and unreadable, so Kyungsoo shifted and leaned back on his own locker, next to him.

"I guess you're here because of--" Kyungsoo stopped, Luhan's name still a lump too large to escape from his throat, "--his letter."

There would be no other reason for Jongin to approach him voluntarily. They had barely gotten along, if not for Luhan. They were both glad that they didn't have any classes together aside from Art History (which Luhan was also in, so that made it bearable), or participated in the same extracurriculars (Jongin was in a dance troupe, Kyungsoo an acapella group, while Luhan was in both). If Luhan wasn't there, Jongin and Kyungsoo wouldn't be found in the same place, at the same time. It wasn't that they harbored an intentional dislike for the other person; they just clashed in who they were. It was a lost cause. Kyungsoo found Jongin too cavalier, and Jongin thought Kyungsoo was too uptight. Luhan was the buffer, his easygoing disposition soothing the friction between the two. Without Luhan, Kyungsoo and Jongin were like two surfaces of equal roughness, chafing harshly upon any contact.

"Yeah," Jongin uncrossed and recrossed his legs. "I assumed you got it too, based on what it says." Kyungsoo noticed, unwillingly, an inkling of impatience in Jongin's voice. He tossed a side glance at the younger one and sighed.

 

_I know you guys don't really get along, but you are both my favorite people in the world (after my family, obviously). I really want you two to be friends; you both know I've been wanting that for the longest time. I never forced you to hang out alone because that would've been pointless and unfair, but now that I'm gone, I hope you guys will realize that you can be friends without me too. There is a lot that you can learn from each other. Most of all, not to brag or anything, but I know that you'll both have a hard time dealing with me being gone. It'll be nice to have someone to go through it together, don't you think?_

 

"To be honest, I don't really want to do it, either." Kyungsoo said quietly as he balanced the books he was hugging. "But if it's something he wants... wanted," he gulped, eyes stinging again upon recalling his favorite hyung, someone who served as his compass in life, "maybe we should at least give it a try."

Jongin turned his head and looked at Kyungsoo, whose lips were quivering as he tried to draw them in between his teeth, and he felt his chest grow tight again, the memory of Luhan too heavy, too suffocating.

"Yeah, you're right," Jongin exhaled in resignation. "For his sake."

 

At first, the notion of being friends was so burdensome and contrived that they came up with an action plan, with dates and tasks listed in numbers and bullets (at Kyungsoo's insistence, obviously, because it wasn't like Jongin cared), like they were scheduling dreadful chores that needed to get done. They sat down at a computer in the library one day, Kyungsoo typing and Jongin brainstorming, things (activities) that they could (should) do together. It was then that Jongin discovered Kyungsoo's culinary hobby, and as a foodie who liked to mooch, Jongin proposed that they start with a weekly study group for Art History, the class for which they shared a common hatred and their grades hinged on the notes they stole from Luhan. Baby steps, before they proceeded to anything drastic (in other words, intolerable). Kyungsoo agreed readily, unaware of Jongin's plan to coax him into feeding him after the study session.

In the first week, which followed shortly after Luhan's burial, Kyungsoo pretended to be unaware of the fact that Jongin arrived at his apartment an hour late, knowing that Jongin had been preoccupied with stopping his tears before coming over, just like Kyungsoo did. He glanced at Jongin's reddened nose, still sniffling, and went into the kitchen. Some time later, Jongin smelled cheese and Kyungsoo emerged with a pan of kimchi spaghetti. Jongin peered at Kyungsoo through puffy eyes, skeptical and perhaps a little afraid, but he took the fork that Kyungsoo offered.

Jongin forgot about Art History (and Luhan, for a very brief moment) as he dug in. His eyes lit up, the savory taste lulling him to contentment. Kyungsoo let him eat while he began going over his notes, reciting parts that he thought were important. Jongin looked at Kyungsoo, hand dragging a highlighter across the paper, then he looked down at the pan littered with half-torn noodles. He felt a warmth in the pit of his stomach that was somewhere between familiar and foreign. Jongin pressed his lips together as he brandished his binder.

A moment of silence passed before Jongin pitched a tentative question about the class, and Kyungsoo answered without a beat. Having been sated by the food, Jongin felt more comfortable around Kyungsoo as they discussed Baroque architecture. Kyungsoo's voice was still somewhat strained, fumbling over the words, and there was still a reduced fluidity to the way Jongin spoke and moved, but at least they were being civil, and silence kept them company instead of imposing on them like an obnoxious guest.

 

"Uhm," Jongin twisted around before he was about to leave. "Thanks. For the food."

Kyungsoo looked at him, eyes unfathomable, before his lips curved into a small smile.

"It was good, wasn't it?" His smile grew larger. Jongin snorted, tense features relaxing into a grin.

"Yeah. It was."

 

 

Weeks went by before either of them was able to utter Luhan's name without their chest constricting, and when they finally did, the word took form only in the air between them. Somehow, they felt okay having Luhan's name on their lips when it was only the two of them, and with time, speaking and hearing the name from the other person became solace, giving the illusion that Luhan was right there with them, and it was the three of them again, just like old times.

At first, Luhan was all they talked about when they weren't poring over haphazard Art History notes and trying to make sense out of them. Luhan was all they knew when faced with the unfamiliarity of each other. It was ironic, really; they were like two strangers seated together on the plane, the commonality being the arm rest hedged in between, something they must share. The memory of Luhan, and the pain of remembering him, was that arm rest.

It gave sufficient comfort and security, sharing Luhan just like they used to. Grieving felt less like a hammer pounding on their chest when the pain was divvied up between them, somewhat equally.

 

 _I knew you guys would eventually get along_ , Luhan said to Jongin, his shadows dancing around the younger boy who tried to catch him. Jongin woke with a start, cold sweat poring out of his palms. When his heartbeat slowed with the deep breaths he took, Jongin was hit with how much he missed Luhan, all over again.

It had been... two and half months? seven weeks? Jongin couldn't pinpoint exactly how long it had been since Luhan left, and he panicked. Grogginess was shooed out of his head as he searched within his memory for the date of the funeral; that was easy. He then tried to do the math and suddenly felt very silly. It dawned on him that there was no more point to counting the days, as if reminding himself how far he had come in trying to survive without Luhan.

Weeks and days and hours and minutes and seconds had, at some point in time, begun to submerge into one another and all that was left, all that mattered now, were moments.

Moments of recounting and laughing sheepishly at how Luhan used to sneakily make him and Kyungsoo hang out by telling them to meet him at the bubble tea place and then not showing up.

Moments of trash-talking Professor Jeong for his boring lectures and whiling away the time they should have spent studying.

Moments of sampling Kyungsoo's newest culinary inventions, some hybrids of kimchi and Western ingredients.

Moments of running to the toilet after said sampling.

Moments of feeling less sad and more courageous when Kyungsoo offered silent hugs instead of chiding him for hiding out in Kyungsoo's bathroom and crying because he was missing Luhan again.

Moments of missing Luhan, wishing and fantasizing that he was still here, and then grumbling and sighing and crying and screaming that he wasn't.

Moments of Kyungsoo ripping raw emotions out of him, tearing Jongin apart with his own pain and then putting him back together.

Moments of Jongin doing the same.

All that remained were moments of them together, getting sick, then well, and then sick again with wishing to see Luhan's face, to hear his voice, to have him try to make them friends.

 

_I knew you guys would eventually get along._

 

"Yeah." Jongin whispered to Luhan behind closed eyelids, his best friend's eyes gleaming hopefully, proudly. "I guess you were right."

 

Jongin drifted to a dreamless sleep as Luhan became lighter and lighter, fading into a speck etched to the back of Jongin's mind.

 

 

The moon was nearly full on the night of the end-of-the-year performance of Jongin's dance troupe. Luckily for the troupe, the sky was clear and a good amount of crowds had already gathered on the campus, as they decided a different approach this year, holding the performance on the open plaza. Jongin was restless, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, head craning over the throng of students.

Jongin felt a grip on his arm. He turned, and smiled.

"Sorry, I had to feed my dog." A sheen of sweat glistened on Kyungsoo's forehead; he must have rushed here.

Jongin snorted. He opened his mouth to say something when his troupe leader pulled him aside; it was time. He flashed an apologetic smile at Kyungsoo, who half-pumped a fist in the air and mouthed "Fighting!"

 

Kyungsoo knew nothing about Jongin's dance troupe. Actually, he knew very little about the dance troupes on campus. No, make that dance in general. The only time Kyungsoo would humor himself (and the onlooking spectators) with dancing was at clubs, which he hadn't stepped a foot into after his last visit, and that wouldn't have happened if not for Luhan dragging him along. It wasn't that he couldn't dance; he could surely generate bodily movements without looking like he was having a seizure (though Luhan would insist that he was a perfect impersonation of John Travolta in _Grease_ , which Kyungsoo took as a compliment, albeit begrudgingly on behalf of his pride). Kyungsoo simply didn't find it enjoyable or, well, necessary.

Watching others dance, though, was a different story. And watching Jongin dance became a story of its own.

 

The performance started out with a solo number by Jongin, unobtrusively at first, as if it was just a random guy dancing in the middle of the plaza to a flagrantly blasting stereo. It was the troupe's gimmick, a tactic to gather a crowd using their best dancer, and it worked. Singlets and pairs and then groups of people steadily approached, forming a rough circle on the periphery of the plaza as the jazzy tune surfed through the crisp air of autumn, sharps and flats and syncopated tenor springing off of Jongin's limbs as he moved them with graceful precision.

 

Kyungsoo thought he was watching a symphony in which the conductor was Jongin, the orchestra was Jongin, and the music was Jongin. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. His eyes forgot to zoom out and watch anyone, anything else as Jongin's solo seamlessly segued into the group number. Kyungsoo didn't notice that the music had changed, or that he was being jostled around by the increasingly dense crowd, or that he was unconsciously standing on the tips of his toes because the guy that suddenly appeared before him was unfairly tall. His eyes followed Jongin, intensely fixated on the way his torso bent, the way his head tilted, the way his arms sawed and caressed the air. Kyungsoo was so lost that he didn't know he had stopped breathing when Jongin's eyes met his, gaze captivating the better part of his soul and holding it hostage.

It suddenly began to rain when the troupe just finished their performance, ending it with an upbeat number delivered by Jongin and two other members. It quickly grew into a downpour that scoured the crowd from the plaza as people began scattering into all directions, yelping and swearing while shielding themselves with bare arms. Kyungsoo was frozen amidst his clapping when Jongin pulled him by the arm, hand sliding down to hold Kyungsoo's, as they sprinted across the lawns and into the nearest building. They were laughing while trying to catch their breath, like they were high on the thinning air between raindrops. The building was empty but well-lit; it was one of the smaller ones housing engineering lecture halls. Kyungsoo, despite being a sociology major, knew his way around. He used to come here to study with Luhan, drawn to the silence in the deserted classrooms and down the dim corridors.

It took Kyungsoo a few moments to notice that his hand was still in Jongin's. He stopped dead in his tracks, hesitation strong enough to jolt Jongin to a stop. Jongin was quick to catch on, and he let go, a little too abruptly because he was too preoccupied with how hot his face felt. Jongin walked ahead briskly, mumbling something like "I need to use the restroom".

Kyungsoo followed suit, a few steps behind. Water dripped from his half-drenched shirt to the floor, pitter-pattering as his fingertips pressed into the palm with a temperature that wasn't his own.

 

_"Jongin isn't very good with words." Luhan said out of nowhere. Kyungsoo paused in the middle of copying notes and blinked into the squiggly lines of his rushed handwriting._

_"Maybe it has to do with the fact that he's a dancer," Kyungsoo muttered with feigned interest when what he really wanted to say was 'What does that have to do with anything?'_

_Luhan hummed softly, flipping a page of notes over as he tapped his pen on the tabletop._

_"Maybe. He's better with expressing himself through action. And sometimes that's more enough."_

 

What Luhan said to him months ago rang up in his ears, and Kyungsoo frowned. Were they friends by now? Jongin had invited him to come watch the performance, and he showed up as promised. Yeah, they were friends, sure, Kyungsoo thought. But a friend's hand shouldn't have felt this warm.

 

_It's okay to be warm, Kyungsoo-ah._

 

"Is it, really?"

"Huh?" Jongin turned around and asked. Kyungsoo didn't realize that he had spoken aloud. He flushed and looked down on his wet sneakers, toes curling furiously inside.

"Nothing." Kyungsoo mumbled as he walked past a bemused Jongin and toward the vending machines lining up the opposite wall.

 

 

_Yes, really._

 

 

Kyungsoo pushed a coin into the vending machine. He pressed on a button for a coke. The machine was silent and motionless.

"Are you kidding me," Kyungsoo muttered, pounding on the machine. Jongin got up and was about to intervene when Kyungsoo stepped back and stamped the bottom of his foot right above the dispenser. The machine gurgled and spewed out the plastic bottle. Kyungsoo picked it up with a shit-eating grin of victory.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?"

"Luhan hyung taught me."

 

Jongin froze, then broke into a chuckle, lips upturned into a wistful smile.

 

"He taught me that, too."

 

The smile stayed on Jongin's face long after Kyungsoo offered him a coke as well. They sat in a silence made comfortable by a shared memory, grown by the seeds that Luhan had planted.

 

Kyungsoo thought he was okay with being this warm. If Luhan said it was okay, it had to be.

 

 

 

_Kyungsoo came as ripples in Jongin's ocean, and Jongin crashed into Kyungsoo like a tidal wave._

_But the tides change according to the wax and wane of the same moon, the moon that is Luhan._

 

They fought over Luhan a lot more than they thought possible. Rather than being the thread that was meant to connect them, Luhan sometimes served as the detonator that lit both fuses simultaneously. They were occasionally caught in a sick, childish game, bluffing about who hurt more and who deserved more time to mourn, each claiming that the hole Luhan had excavated in them was bigger than the other's.

 

Sometimes, Jongin would snap when Kyungsoo showed him old clips of acapella showcases and couldn't help but pause and replay his and Luhan's duets. Kyungsoo would call him childish and tell him to stop getting jealous of things that had already happened, and Jongin would scream in his face about how insensitive he was, rubbing it in Jongin's face, before his eyes quickly reddened and he ran out the room.

Other times, when Jongin flipped through a photo album of the dance troupe and jabbered about their own duet, Kyungsoo would become what he defined as childish, rolling his eyes excessively with arms crossed, envy nipping at him.

 

But the times when Jongin broke into sobs and pressed his wet eyes into his arms, he still felt a hand on his back, patting gently. Kyungsoo was not one to hold grudges, and, being the older one, he somewhat felt obligated to compromise and pretend that yeah, Jongin was hurting more than he was, though that was far from the truth.

 

Kyungsoo just thought that the amount of tears Jongin shed was enough for both of them. More than enough.

 

 

They managed to keep up the weekly study group for nearly four months, a feat in and of itself. Kyungsoo thought they had finally reached a stage of mutual understanding, if not acceptance, when Jongin suddenly called the day before another session to cancel, claiming that he wasn't feeling well. Kyungsoo offered to bring him some soup, to which Jongin immediately declined, but acquiesced after Kyungsoo half-cooed and half-threatened to withhold his Art History notes.

Jongin knew his cover was blown when Kyungsoo stepped into his room and noticed his puffy eyes.

"Have you been crying?" Kyungsoo wanted to kick himself in the shin upon realizing the insensitivity of the question.

"No shit, Sherlock," Jongin muttered, avoiding Kyungsoo's inquisitive gaze.

"If this was why you didn't want to do the study group today, you could have just told me."

Jongin was quiet. He didn't want to let Kyungsoo know that months had passed and he wasn't having it easier. In fact, sometimes, spending time with Kyungsoo made it much harder than it was, especially when Kyungsoo unconsciously reminisced aloud, anecdotes sneaking in between innocuous sentences, stories that belonged to only him and Luhan, with Jongin out of the picture.

"I thought we could talk about stuff like this now."

"Maybe you thought wrong." An irrational feeling of being victimized gripped Jongin, and he felt tears circling in his eyes again.

"Jongin, you know Luhan hyung would've wanted--"

"How would you know that?"

Kyungsoo blinked at the callous question, almost taunting.

"You weren't the only one that was close with him, you know."

"He was my _best friend_ ," Jongin snapped, eyes red and swollen as he angrily wiped them with the back of his hand. In his grief-stricken mind, he was allowed to hog Luhan even in mourning.

Kyungsoo stared at him, stumped for words.

"That's not fair," he finally managed, voice hushed as he tried to swallow the sobs. "I loved him as much as you did. He was important to me just as much as he was to you, and still is."

Kyungsoo whipped around and picked up his backpack, then took brisk strides toward Jongin's bedroom door, slamming it shut behind him.

He took off in a sprint the instant he exited Jongin's house. He ran until his lungs burned, until his legs felt corroded, until his feet brought him to the playground that he and Luhan used to visit after their acapella practice. Panting, he stopped in front of the swings that they used to sit and talk, where Luhan would turn into a five-year-old and pester Kyungsoo into pushing him on the swing until he screamed as he remembered his fear of heights. Kyungsoo plopped down on a swing, his breaths short and ragged. He didn't realize that he had been crying until the evening breeze brushed past his cheeks, caressing the dried stains.

Kyungsoo pulled out his wallet and opened it, retrieving a Polaroid of him and Luhan. It was taken during an outing with their acapella group, shortly after Kyungsoo joined. They were drunk and stoned and just didn't give much fuck about anything that night, and when a Polaroid camera was passed around, Luhan snatched it and pulled Kyungsoo close, slinging an arm around the younger one's shoulders. "Say fuck yeah!" Luhan howled and Kyungsoo cackled, and the shutter was pressed. When the picture came out, Luhan gave it to Kyungsoo to keep, ignoring the other's protest. "I have better memory than you," Luhan stuck out a tongue.

 

Kyungsoo was glad that he hadn't insisted on Luhan keeping the photo. Even though Luhan didn't have a better memory, Kyungsoo needed the memory to last longer.

 

Studying the photo, Kyungsoo felt his eyes get wet again. He sniffled and tried to blink back the years.

 

"You know, hyung, you taught me so much..." Kyungsoo mumbled as he thumbed over Luhan's face. "Not just music, but school, life, people, everything." A tear dropped on the photo, beading on Luhan's chest. "But I still have so much I don't know... I don't know how to deal with Jongin sometimes. I need you here to teach me because I'm just... so frustrated. And I'm trying really hard to be friends with him, you can see that, right? I'm doing everything I can and it's still--"

 

_I just wish you were here, that's all. If you were here, everything would be so much easier._

 

Another tear fell. And another.

 

"What am I supposed to do, Luhan hyung? Tell me what I'm supposed to do, _please_."

 

Jongin stood on the perimeter of the playground, the canopy of the trees shielding him in the shade. He watched Kyungsoo doubled over, shoulders heaving. He bit his lower lip, hard, brows furrowing as uneasiness boiled inside his chest. He considered approaching Kyungsoo, but then what? What could he give besides another reason to cry? And Kyungsoo never cried. Not in front of Jongin.

Jongin shut his eyes, stinging with something familiar but unwelcoming, and turned on his heels.

 

That night, insomnia kept Jongin company as he searched the ceiling for Luhan's face, but Kyungsoo's kept surfacing instead as guilt gnawed in the back of his mind. Kyungsoo, a couple blocks away, was sucked into a whirlpool of old images, and did not sleep until he fell exhaustion to the past blurring the present.

 

 

The next day, Jongin avoided Kyungsoo's locker like a plague. When he walked into Art History, his feet carried him to the seat next to Kyungsoo without him knowing, and when he realized, he had already sat down. He glanced over at Kyungsoo, who was furiously scribbling in his notebook, brows knotted in concentration.

 

No words were exchanged between the two in their only shared class that day.

 

 

Jongin caught a glimpse of Kyungsoo when he came out of the dance studio. He forgot about changing out of his sweat-drenched clothes and hurriedly shrugged on his jacket. He watched Kyungsoo round the corner and walk out of the school gates, and followed a few feet behind, pulling his scarf tight as he shivered from the frosted air intruding his bones. 

When they came to a crossroad, waiting for the light to turn red, Jongin fell in step right behind Kyungsoo. He parted his mouth to call, but saw that Kyungsoo had earphones on. He gave up the idea and waited--for what, he didn't know; not for the light, because his feet were still rooted after the little green man began to flash across the street. When Jongin snapped out of his reverie, the light had already turned green, traffic rushing through the intersection.

He continued to follow Kyungsoo on the opposite side of the road, eyes trained on the figure walking diagonally from him. Jongin didn't know why he was still following Kyungsoo. He didn't even know what to say to Kyungsoo were he to catch up with him. But something kept drawing him forward, tugging his gaze.

Kyungsoo came to an abrupt stop. Jongin froze for a moment before taking a few more steps so he was parallel with Kyungsoo.

Breath hitched in Jongin's throat when Kyungsoo turned, and their eyes met.

 

He was crying.

 

Across a good ten-foot expanse of the road and through the blitzing horde of cars, Jongin knew, somehow, that those were tears that ran down Kyungsoo's face. He watched, eyes unblinking and taking on a shade of reciprocal anguish.

Kyungsoo could have turned around, but he didn't. He watched Jongin watch him, and let the tears free fall. It felt strangely comforting, drowning in the abyss of Jongin's eyes while _Baby Don't Cry_ , the duet he and Luhan once performed, filled his ears.

When the light turned, Jongin crossed the road, unhurried and the locked gaze unbroken. He stopped before Kyungsoo, who succumbed to tear falls as he looked up at Jongin and unsaid words were exchanged between their eyes. Jongin pulled off his scarf and wrapped it around the other's bare neck, as slow as Kyungsoo's lips quivered.

A lump caught inside Kyungsoo's throat when Jongin took his face into his warm hands, and he closed his eyes unknowingly when cold lips met his own, dry cheeks pressed against his tear-stained face just as his own part segued into Luhan's, as if Luhan was breathing the lyrics into him through Jongin's mouth.

 

Kyungsoo pushed him away, his mind reeling, but it was too late.

 

They both knew that everything had changed.

 

 

 

_As the 100 days of mourning come to an end, another season of pain begins._

 

 

The winter that year was biting and merciless, encasing their heartaches and tears within crystals, frozen in remembrance of Luhan.

 

That winter, they sought warmth with an unprecedented desperation, and they found it in each other.

 

 

Jongin had always been the one with a plethora of emotions, wearing his heart on his sleeve. Kyungsoo, on the other hand, had an easier time following reason and keeping a level head. This might be why Kyungsoo seemed callous to Jongin, barely shedding a tear when Jongin was so susceptible to breaking down when nostalgia became overpowering. Jongin thought Kyungsoo was like a tree, sturdy and strong with a firmly rooted trunk, while he himself was a lone flower, feeble and easily destroyed.

What Jongin didn't realize was that while the tree may look stout and invincible on the outside, it was slowly rotting away on the inside, shriveling in secret, its gradual death unknown to the world.

 

"How do you do it? Keeping it together."

 

The question surprised both Kyungsoo and Jongin, who posed it without filtering the words.

They were huddled in Kyungsoo's living room, midterm notes sprawling across the coffee table. Half-emptied mugs and crumpled wrappers of gum and candy hinted hours of cramming, while a pot was abandoned at the foot of the table, strewn of ramen noodles at the bottom and two pairs of chopsticks shoved inside. It had been whiles since that incident, the one that both of them refused to acknowledge ever happened and for the second time, they reached an unspoken agreement about something as they pretended that everything was normal and they were just two friends that needed to study together for a dreadful exam.

Jongin was not good with words. He tended to be blunt and cut to the chase, unaware of the impact that it would have on the recipient. Like how just now Kyungsoo was pushed into a hole, left helpless at the bottom. But Jongin couldn't have blocked the question even if he wanted to. The scene of how he had _kissed_ Kyungsoo and how Kyungsoo had looked at him horrified kept reliving itself on the paper before him, and that was all he saw instead of the names of 17th century painters and their masterpieces.

Kyungsoo didn't know how to answer. The truth was, he did not have it all together. He would pat Jongin on the back, a hand massaging the trembling shoulder as the younger boy surrendered to yet another assault of nostalgic grief. But it wasn't until Kyungsoo returned to his room and locked his door did he curl up in bed, rocking back and forth as he choked and sobbed into his thighs.

And so Kyungsoo did not say a word. His legs wouldn't stop shaking, so he got on his feet. He turned to the bookcase and pretended to busy himself with rearranging the books.

 

"You know, it's okay to cry."

"....."

"You don't need to feel like you have to have it together just because I can't."

"....."

"... because it hurts me too, seeing you like this."

 

That was when Kyungsoo broke, unrestrained emotions gushing out of his fragility, the walls of his chest already wobbling from trying to hold it all in. He lowered his head as tears tumbled down his cheeks, hands clenched, small frame shaking so violently that Jongin thought he was going to shatter into a million pieces.

Jongin got up from the chair and walked up behind Kyungsoo. He steered the older one around and Kyungsoo let himself crumple in Jongin's arms, arms that were stronger than his own at the moment. He wept into Jongin's chest as the taller one tightened the embrace and rested his chin on Kyungsoo's head. The wrenching sobs tore out of Kyungsoo's chest and made their way to Jongin's, tears damping Kyungsoo's hair as their agony became one and enveloped them, consuming them both.

Time went still from the instant Jongin pulled away and his hands easily found their way to Kyungsoo's tear-stained face, to the moment when Kyungsoo's eyes fell shut, a tear trickling down his face as Jongin leaned in. All Kyungsoo felt was how warm Jongin's hands were, and how his kisses felt like fire on his eyelids, his cheeks, then his trembling lips.

 

_It's okay to be warm, Kyungsoo-ah. Really, I promise._

Jongin could taste the tears on Kyungsoo, and then more as his tongue tentatively pushed in and touched Kyungsoo's. He met no resistance, just a tinge of uncertainty, wavering between taking the leap or backing up. But Kyungsoo knew there was no more room to retreat into, and he was left to choose between combusting in the flames of grief alone, or sharing the burn with Jongin.

Maybe it was the grief numbing his fears, his insecurities, and all the question marks he had pinned above the confusing notion that was Jongin, Kyungsoo forgot for a moment that the person he was kissing back and clinging onto was Jongin. This person wasn't the Jongin he used to resent for no particular reason, the Jongin who used to get on his nerves with tactless remarks, or the Jongin with whom he shared nothing in common except half of a heart for Luhan.

Right now, the person who was pulling Kyungsoo's shirt over his head and fumbling at his belt was the Jongin that had kissed him when his lips were cold. This was the Jongin that he had come to memorize and mimic the quirks and mannerisms, unwillingly and unknowingly. This was the Jongin that had never complained about the cooking that gave him a stomachache till the next day. This was the Jongin that he thought could raise the dead with his dancing. This was the Jongin that he never knew with Luhan around, the Jongin he knew with Luhan gone.

Kyungsoo stopped thinking and trying to differentiate which Jongin was true because it didn't matter, not when he could feel what Jongin felt, the agony and despair and the feeling of being buried alive by memory that grew only more tenacious each day.

So he let go, little by little. He let go some when Jongin pressed his mouth on Kyungsoo's collarbone, then some more when his own hand went to Jongin's abs and trailed downward, and then more--a lot more--when Jongin slid a finger into him.

Kyungsoo let go completely at Jongin's first thrust, letting him in and savoring the pain that ripped through a part of him that wasn't his soul. And when climax hit, Jongin felt as if Kyungsoo had gone inside his head and plucked out the remnants of Luhan, draining him of the things he was stubbornly holding onto with slipping hands, hands that were now grasping Kyungsoo's instead.

 

 

 

_If we're going to hurt, we might as well hurt together._

 

 

 

It was okay that Jongin would start shedding silent tears when nesting his chin atop Kyungsoo's head. It was okay that Kyungsoo would call Jongin up in the middle of the night just to go sit on the swings, the Polaroid clutched in his hand as tears rolled across its glassy surface and into the sand underneath. It was okay that they continued to hurt and weep and scream into space and fuck into each other because they didn't know what else to do with this thing called unbearable grief.

 

When Jongin dragged fingers across his skin, Kyungsoo thought it felt like Jongin was tapping messages from Luhan that were left behind, a Morse code that only the two of them could decipher. It burned, as if Jongin wrote in flames, but that was quite alright because Kyungsoo's body was already on fire.

 

It was this mixture of pain and comfort that they relished, a remedy that was effective only when they gravitated and crashed into each other, warm bodies pressed together. Thoughts and feelings were exchanged quietly in the brushing of lips and stroking of hands, and it became almost natural, like it made perfect sense, that they healed in this way.

 

 

 

  
_Jongin was Kyungsoo's lighthouse_

_Kyungsoo Jongin's anchor_

_This way_

_They knew where to go_

_And how to stop_

_In the vast ocean that was Luhan_

 

 

 

So it was okay. They weren't fine, but they were okay. _Almost._

 

 

 

Winter break came by and left like a thief, unnoticed and leaving behind traces of things missing. Things like time that Jongin lost in staring into Kyungsoo's eyes, examining himself in irises the color of coffee beans, and other things, like breaths Kyungsoo took to sing the same song over and over again until Jongin fell back asleep after a bad dream, snuggling close because he wouldn't feel safe otherwise.

 

"When was the last time you thought of him?"

Kyungsoo asked while carding through Jongin's hair, eyes oriented to some variety show on TV that neither of them cared much for.

It was like a ritual, tossing random questions about Luhan at each other from time to time, as if to reassure themselves that Luhan was still there, preserved by this bond between their souls. The memory was now a new keepsake that contained more meaning than the souvenir they each held, the one Luhan left them separately. It was a keepsake that helped them reminisce without wincing from poking at the fresh scabs of newly closed wounds.

"When I saw a group of elementary school students kicking around a soccer ball at the park." Jongin smiled fondly at the memory. He had been walking home from school when he passed by the kids. The soccer ball had rolled to his feet, like it was sent by Luhan. When he picked up the ball and set it above his poised right foot, his fingers were shaking. "You?"

"When you kissed me just now. I thought of how he would've smiled."

Jongin turned to face Kyungsoo, just gazing. Kyungsoo's eyes were reassuring and familiar. They had come a long way since the days when Jongin didn't even want to meet those eyes.

"Yeah. He would have."

Jongin leaned in again, and smiled into Kyungsoo's mouth as he imagined Luhan giggling and teasing him endlessly should he witness this.

 

_Thank you, hyung._

 

  
_The wounds are healing ever so nicely_  
 _But even if they reopen_  
 _I'll be able to take the pain_  
 _Because they're not just my wounds_  
 _They're our wounds_

 

 

 

Jongin was lounging in Kyungsoo's bed with a manga when Kyungsoo came home with a half-filled plastic bag. He plopped down on the floor in the middle of the room and dumped the contents out on the rug. The tinkling and rustling got Jongin's attention. He sat up and examined the items sprawled out before a pensive Kyungsoo. They were marbles of various colors and strings of woven fabric.

 

"What are these for?"

 

Kyungsoo spread out the marbles with his fingers. They were about ring-size, glassy, like the ones that they used to find in ramune bottles when they were little. Jongin could tell that there was a lot on Kyungsoo's mind, so he just waited, watching the older one fiddle with the marbles.

Kyungsoo played back the words of the jewelry boutique owner when he asked which colors suited someone who was passionate, someone who was calm, and someone who, well, represented memory.

 

_"For someone who's passionate, I'd go with crimson. It means poignant zeal that is infectious and irresistible. For someone who's calm, cerulean. Their composure is so soothing, it's like a lullaby. For someone of memory," the ahjumma looked at him, her gaze meaningful. "Persimmon. Orange is a warm tone, and the fruit symbolizes nostalgia."_

He picked out three and set them to the side, lining them up horizontally.

"Red," Kyungsoo tapped on the one on the far left. "For you." His finger moved to the next one. "Blue, for me." Then the last one. "And orange, for Luhan. "

Kyungsoo would later learn that persimmon also embodied the transformation from bitter to sweet, and it was the perfect allegory for the way Luhan changed his relationship with Jongin.

He looked up at Jongin, eyes not asking " _Is this alright with you?_ " but " _You get it, right?_ ". Jongin nodded. Yes, he did.

 

 

A petal of cherry blossom drifted past the window blinds and landed on the pair of finished bracelets on Kyungsoo's desk. Spring was here, the season of growing persimmons and new beginnings.

 

 

 

Neither Kyungsoo nor Jongin, not even Luhan himself, had expected it to end up like this. Luhan had hoped that his two closest friends would be able to find solace together, but he didn't expect the two parallel lines to not only intersect, but merge into one. The most Luhan was striving for was to save Kyungsoo and Jongin the pain of having to grieve alone, even though he was holding a one-way ticket to the netherworld.

 

But it was the perfect ending. Because this time, he saved everyone.

_The three of us, we'll be together till the end of times. I promise._


End file.
